Courage to Say
by UThnkUrFunny IThnkImAdorable
Summary: AU 1600s Dean is repulsed by slavery and his father's treatment of slaves. When a young slave named Sam comes and is treated especially brutally, will Dean be spurred into action? Limp!mute!Sam Protective!Dean Warning: abuse, mild torture, adult themes
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Yes, I can also recite all the American president's birth dates.**

**Dean is 14, Sam is 10**

**OKAY! This is the most OUTLANDISH fic I've written. If you can make it through the first chapter, i actually think this will be a great story. That is... if you can make it through the first chapter**

**This takes place in roughly the 1600s. I may be wrong 'cause honestly, my history ain't too good. I'd be happy if you can just accept the story as is and ignore the historical inaccuracy.**

**Same goes for the medical conditions, though I try to do research and be accurate with that stuff.**

**WARNING: some mentions disturbing events**

**Enjoy chapter one!  
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Dean struggled to button up the many buttons on his dress clothes. "Goddammit..."

"Master Dean, _please_ let me help you," Clara pleaded.

Dean looked at his buttons with frustration and sighed. "Fine," he said resigned.

Clara closed her eyes in relief as she stepped up and expertly finished buttoning and straightening out Dean's outfit for him.

"Alright, _alright!_" Dean said as she started to wipe his shoulders off.

Clara smiled. "Just try not to ruin it during the dinner."

Dean grunted in response as he looked at himself in the mirror. He gripped the collar and pulled on it, trying to loosen it up.

As Clara started to leave, Dean mumbled a thank you. Clara smiled. "It's my job, sir."

"Doesn't mean I shouldn't be grateful," Dean replied automatically.

Clara nodded and gave a small bow as she left the room.

Dean sighed. That last exchange with Clara was word-for-word, has been word-for-word, for almost nine years.

Clara had practically raised Dean ever since his mother died when he was four. Clara knew everything his father didn't, and she probably knew more.

What frustrated Dean was how formal she was around him, even when they were alone. He always confided her and knew she would never betray his trust, but she still never overstepped her boundaries as a slave.

Before Dean's mother died, she often expressed her dislike of having other people do things for her. She said it was a sign of weakness if other people did things for you. Of course, she never voiced this opinion to her husband, who reveled in slaves doing his bidding and taking the fall for him and his family. Lady Mary always expressed the need for Dean to stay silent on the issue.

When she died and Dean was raised by Clara and mostly ignored by his father, Dean started to form his own opinion. He usually tried to do everything himself, except when his father was present. Once, he had tried to serve his own dinner and ended up spilling it on the floor. The slave who usually served the dinner was beaten nearly to death and thrown out on the street.

So Dean toes the line, keeping the slaves out of trouble and doing things for himself when he can.

And, still, whenever he expressed gratitude, Clara always responded with the same thing.

"It's my job, sir."

_It's not a job if you don't get paid,_ Dean thought to himself. The whole concept of a human owning another was just revolting to him.

Dean fiddled with the buttons of his outfit as he waited for his father to summon him. He was going to be absolutely _miserable_ tonight. He generally hated all things formal, finding the environment too stifling for him.

But tonight was going to be even worse. Tonight his father was going to an action to buy slaves. And he had ordered Dean to join him, claiming that he needed to learn about the _finer_ things in life. First they would have dinner with family friends. Then they would head for the auction where they would remain for the rest of the evening.

Dean buried his face in his hands, mentally preparing himself for the evening. If he didn't behave, no doubt Clara would take the fall and he couldn't let that happen.

His father, Lord Jonathan, went through slaves like napkins. The tiniest infraction would result in punishment (what the punishment is depends on the infraction) and often, being sold. There were only five slaves that have been there for any length of time. Clara and Wolfgang were the only ones that have been there since before Dean was born.

The slaves lived in a small shack-like building. Dean would often visit to talk or listen to their stories. But since most of them were adults and never stayed for long, he didn't really have any friends. He downright refused to mingle with children of his own class no matter how much Clara urged him to, finding them to be stuck up and bad-natured.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Dean said.

Wolfgang opened the door and stepped inside. "Lord Jonathan is waiting for you, sir."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. "Alright, I'm coming.

---

"Next we have a young African male, well-toned muscles and perfectly healthy but make sure you lock him up at night, he has a tendency to try and escape. We'll start the bidding at 2000, do I hear 2000?"

Dean stared at the floor in front of the stage, trying to appear as though he was interested and blocking out the auctioneer's voice at the same time.

They've been there for a few hours already. His father had already bought seven slaves, replacing the seven that had either been thrown out or died since the last auction Lord Jonathan had attended. Now Dean didn't know why they were still there, besides that his father seemed to be enjoying watching these poor bastards getting sold like pieces of meat.

"Sold! To Lady Janet for 7600!"

The slave was led away in chains, the stage preparing for the next specimen. Dean leaned over to his father, who was laughing at something one of his friends had said. "Dad?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"We've already got enough slaves to replace the ones we've lost -- "

"No, we didn't lose them. They were simply worn out and needed to be thrown out."

Dean didn't comment on his father's statement. "Point is, we're ready to go now and I'm _really_ tired..."

Lord Jonathan took a sip of his drink and shook his head. "Nonsense, Dean. Have fun! That's what we're here for!"

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. He sat back down in his seat and sighed. _I suppose I could claim to have stomach pain..._

"Next we have a young boy, submissive and mute, perfect for a quiet, easy going household. We'll start the bidding at seven hundred."

Dean blinked in surprise when his father took the bid. "What? Dad, I said we already replaced -- "

"No harm in having one more, son," he said with a shrug.

Dean looked at the stage to look at who his father was bidding on. He frowned when he saw it was a child. "I thought you didn't buy children," Dean said looking back at his father. Dean may be repulsed by slavery, but he nearly wanted to vomit every time he saw a child slave, not even being able to imagine the horrors they've gone through. At least adults have some know how on how to deal. Children had no idea and were often treated more brutally than the adults. In a way, Dean was almost thankful his father never bought them, because he knew his father would be especially brutal them. "You said they were disobedient and more trouble than they were worth. So why -- ?"

"Always keep an open mind, Dean. A man can change, you know."

Dean looked back at the stage, trying to keep his expression neutral, though he was pretty sure he was failing. The boy was no older than ten. His mouse brown hair was ratty and reached down to his shoulders. His eyes were downcast and he was visibly trembling.

"Sold! To Lord Jonathan for eleven hundred!"

Dean dug his nails into his arm to keep himself from vomiting.

---

Lord Jonathan was still talking to his friends on the way back to their home. Dean was looking out the window of the coach, thinking about the new batch of slaves, especially the little boy.

Dean was racking up his brain, trying to figure out why his father would suddenly buy a child. He really couldn't think of anything except that maybe his father _had_ had a change of heart on the issue of child slaves. Dean shuddered at the thought. That child was going to make a mistake eventually and he would pay for it dearly.

The slaves that they bought were being brought back on an open cart in chains. They would be brought directly to the slaves quarters to receive directions and to sleep for the night. Tomorrow, Lord Jonathan will see his new slaves and give them instructions and rules.

"Dean?"

Dean looked at his father. "Yes, father?"

"I said, what did you think of the auction this evening?"

Dean shrugged. "It was... entertaining."

"But...?" Lord Jonathan said expectantly.

"Well... I'm just wondering why you bought a child."

"That's a very good question," Lord Thomas said. "Let's hear it, John. I mean, we all know that children are such a hassle to keep under control. I don't care _how_ submissive the previous owners say they are, children are always a menace and create a mess of the place."

"But, the adults are harder to train if they're not completely submissive," Lord Jonathan said. "This child is a trial run. I want to see if I can raise a child to be a long term slave. Having to re-buy them over and over hurts the wallet a little after a while. I might be able to raise a child in a way that I won't have to get rid of them as an adult."

Lord Gerrison nodded in agreement. "Still, it might be more trouble than it's worth."

Lord Jonathan smiled. "Well, we shall see."

Dean swallowed hard and looked back out into the night. He started to wonder which would be best for the kid: to stay under his father's brutal rule, or to fend for himself in the streets.

---

Dean waited for a long time, laying in his bed, pretending to sleep.

As soon as they got home, Clara was ready and waiting to take off Dean's clothes and get him ready for bed, despite Dean's protests.

While she prepared a heated pan for his bed, Dean quietly asked Clara if she could take him to the slaves quarters later. She nodded and said, "I'll come get you when your father's asleep."

Clara didn't live in the slaves quarters. She had a small room to herself next to Dean's. Wolfgang, Lord Jonathan's personal slave, also had a room to himself next to Lord Jonathan's. There was another room next to Lord Jonathan's for another personal slave. Lady Mary's slave, Maria, used to live there. But after Lady Mary died, Lord Jonathan beat her nearly to death than sold her. The room's been empty ever since.

There was a soft knock on Dean's door. Dean sat up and quickly answered it.

Clara held up a candle and gave a small smile. "Are you ready, Master Dean?"

Dean nodded as he stepped outside and carefully closed his bedroom door behind him.

Clara gave a small huff. "Master, I cannot let you outside in nothing but your nightgown!"

"I'll be fine, Clara. I won't get it dirty, I promise."

"That's not the point!" she whispered harshly. "It's unseemly for you to be outside in this state. Even in the cover of darkness!"

"If it's seemly for a slave to be out on a plantation in rags all day, then I'm perfectly fine as I am now," Dean said dead serious. He took the candle from Clara and headed down the stairs.

Clara shook her head but didn't press the issue.

When they reached the slaves quarters behind the house, Clara carefully knocked on the door. A few moments later, the door cracked open and one of the slaves poked his head out. Seeing who it was, he opened the door all they way and let them in.

The lamps were still lit and, by the looks of it, they were all awake. Dean figured they wouldn't be asleep yet. Whenever they got new slaves it took a while to get them settled in and for everyone to calm down enough to fall asleep.

One of the new slaves looked at Dean in confusion. He leaned over to the slave next to him and whispered something.

Dean saw this and walked up to him. The new slave's eyes widened a little, but then narrowed in a glare.

"I take it you're wondering why I'm here," Dean said.

The new slave sighed. "The thought crossed my mind. Did your Daddy send you down here or something?"

Dean just looked at him for a second. Then he sat down on the floor in front of him, looking up at the slave. The slave's confusion was evident on his face. "What's your name?" Dean asked.

The slave blinked at the question. "Joshua."

Dean nodded. "Well, Joshua, have you thought about escaping yet?"

The slave's expression didn't change, though his brow furrowed a little. "Why does that matter?"

"Because I want you to know, that my father has excellent guards. And they don't just shoot escaped slaves. They string them up for a little fun before taking them to my father, who usually cuts off a toe or two, maybe break a leg, before sending you back to work."

Joshua took in a deep breath, but didn't say anything.

"And I also want you to know, that if it were up to me, I'd let you all go."

Joshua's eyes widened at this. His jaw dropped a little and he shook his head. "What -- ?"

"My father doesn't know, but I absolutely abhor the thought of one human owning another. I'm trusting you not to tell my father."

Joshua laughed. "If you abhor the thought, then why do you still _use _us?"

"He doesn't," the slave next to him said. His name was Caleb. He worked out on one of the plantations for the most part. He was bought by Lord Jonathan seven months previously. "Master Dean tries to do everything himself unless his father is present."

Joshua looked at Dean disbelievingly. He shook his head. "It's not like you actually care."

Dean sighed. He didn't even know why he bothered to talk to new slaves like this. None of them are accustomed to the idea of a master who doesn't even want slaves. It just doesn't compute in their heads.

He stood up and wiped the dirt off his nightgown, making sure there weren't any stains on it for his father to find later. "Can you tell me where the boy is?"

Both Joshua and Caleb frowned. "What boy?" Caleb asked.

"The only boy that came in! It's the only child my father's ever bought! How can you not have noticed him?"

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, making him turn around. It was Clara and she looked at Dean with sad eyes. "I found him, sir."

Dean looked at Joshua and Caleb for a moment before following Clara. She led him to the far corner of the slaves quarters, where some of the slaves had started to fall asleep.

The boy was tucked in the corner, squeezed between one of the shared cots and the wall. He had his arms wrapped around himself and was trembling hard.

Dean knelt in front of the boy, concerned. "Clara, get me a blanket." When Clara got up to do as she was told, Dean reached forward and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. The boy gasped and jerked his head up to look at the newcomer.

The look the boy had in his eyes tugged on Dean's heart. They boy's expression was the very definition of fear. He was crying silently, his shoulders shaking from the cries. His eyes were so full of sadness that Dean had a moment of insanity where he wanted to sweep the boy up and carry him away from his awful place.

Clara came back with the blanket, kneeling next to Dean. She unfolded the ratty blanket and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders. The boy shied away and continued to shake, but didn't try and fight them at all.

"What's your name, kid?" Dean asked.

The boy's eyes widened at the question. He swallowed hard and shook his head.

Dean frowned. He looked at Clara with a confused expression. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's just scared, Dean," Clara said, though she looked a little confused as well.

A laugh erupted from behind them, causing them to turn. One of the new slaves was laying on his back, laughing as if someone had just told an extremely humorous joke. "Yeah, he's scared," the man said between laughs. "He's also a fucking mute."

Dean sucked in a breath as he looked back at the kid. The kid was nodding his head vigorously, tears still falling down his face. Dean reached forward and pulled the blanket further around the kid, trying to get the kid to stop trembling. "I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean whispered.

Clara continued to look at the laughing slave. "What's the boy's name?"

The slave looked at Clara. The sighed as he sat up, still giggling. "His name's Sam."

_Sam_. Dean nodded. The name seemed to fit the boy. Dean gave Sam a small smile. "How do you do, Sam? I'm Dean."

The boy's lips moved a little as he mouthed the word. Dean smiled as the boy's trembling seemed to decrease a little. "Why don't you lay down, Sam. You're gonna want to get some sleep before tomorrow."

After a moment, Sam gave a small shaky nod. He slowly rearranged himself so he could lay on his side, using his arm as a pillow. Almost immediately, his eyes began to droop. Before long, the boy was sound asleep.

Dean turned to the slave that had been laughing earlier. "I'm assuming you were both owned by the same family before this?"

The slave nodded. "Name's Jack. And yeah, I've known Sam since he was born. I knew his parents."

Dean knew he was going to regret his next question. "What happened to his parents?"

Jack shrugged. "Father was beaten to death before he was born. Mother was sold off 'bout six years ago."

Dean sighed. "Was he born mute?"

Jack shook his head. "Nah. Sam accidentally knocked something over when he was five or six. He got beaten real bad for it. Hasn't spoken a word since. Our master thought he was faking it. Turns out he wasn't."

Dean's stomach clenched. The way Jack said that was unsettling to Dean. "What do you mean?"

Jack giggled again. "Our master threatened to cut his tongue out if he didn't say anything. 'Course, since Sam _couldn't_ say anything, he ended up losing his tongue."

Dean gagged. He quickly stood up and leaned against the wall, his gag reflex making it hard to breath.

Jack just smiled. "Funny... watching the kid writhe and flop when he can't even scream..."

"Stop it!" Clara barked. Dean was sheet white pale, a thin layer of sweat appearing on his skin. Clara placed a hand on Dean's back and rubbed it, trying to calm him down.

Once Dean caught his breath, he nodded to Clara. "'M fine..."

Clara nodded and took a couple steps back. Dean stood up straight and wiped the sweat off his face. He looked down at Sam, trying not to picture Sam getting his tongue cut out. But his mind didn't listen.

Clara cleared her throat. "Master, we should probably go back in. You need your sleep, as well."

Dean nodded, not really thinking. "Yeah, okay." Dean gave Sam one last glance before following Clara back to the house.

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**yeah... this first chapter was really boring wasn't it? Well, review and let me know. i promise the next chapter will be MUCH more interesting...  
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**Sooo...? Review and let me know what you think :)  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Yes, I can also recite all the American president's birth dates.**

**Dean is 14, Sam is 10**

**OKAY! This is the most OUTLANDISH fic I've written. **

**I'm also up to a slow start. This chapter is pretty slow, though I'm almost positive things will get a lot more interesting next chap (more for you limp/hurt Sammy!girls anyway XD)**

**I've got a NEW poll. For those of you who already took it this week, TAKE IT AGAIN PLEASE! ITS DIFFERENT!  
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**Enjoy chapter two!  
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The curtains flew back, letting in a flood of light.

"Goddammit..." Dean moaned. He rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. "Isn't there a more _subtle_ way to get me up?"

"Maybe," Clara said as she laid out her master's clothes for the day. "But none are as effective."

Dean moaned in response. He slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes hard. "What time is it?"

"Close to nine thirty. Your tutor will be here soon."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Another fun session with Mr. Berkley..." He sighed. "Kill me now."

Although Clara made Dean come back to the house at a semi-reasonable hour, Dean was only able to get a couple hours of sleep. His brain just wouldn't let him relax. He kept imagining Sam and the horrors he's had to go through. "Clara?"

"Yes, Master Dean?"

Dean sat up in his bed and watched Clara lay out his clothes and organize his work. He sighed, knowing telling her to stop wouldn't do anything. "Have the new slaves been given their posts?"

Clara paused. She stood straight and faced Dean. "Yes. And if you're thinking what I think you're thinking."

"God, no," Dean said quickly, a look of disgust crossing his face. "God, not after last time."

Clara nodded. "Good." She held up Dean's shirt and said, "Now let's get you ready."

Dean rolled his eyes as he stepped out of his bed and grabbed the shirt. "I can put it on myself," he mumbled.

Clara smiled. "Of course you can, sir."

Dean quickly put his shirt and pant leggings, but when he tried to put on his jacket, he found himself once again fumbling with the buttons. "Sonovabitch..."

"Master..."

Dean sighed. "Fine."

Clara smiled as she stepped out to once again finish dressing Dean. "This would be a lot more simple if you just let me help you from the beginning."

"Or the tailor could make me simpler clothes. I mean, seriously! What's the point in all these extra buttons!?"

"To show your status," Clara said simply. When she finished, she grabbed Dean's over pants to help him into them.

"Right," Dean said as he stepped into the pants. "Because the fact that we beat the shit you isn't enough."

Clara didn't say anything as she finished tying up his pants. "Good. Now we have a little more time to get some breakfast into you."

"I'm not hungry."

"Master Dean..."

"Clara, no. I'll be fine until lunch. 'Sides, I don't think I'll be able to stomach anything right now."

Clara nodded. "Alright. But your father wants to see you before you go to your tutor."

"Alright. I'm going now."

---

Dean knocked on his father's study door. There was a moment of silence before Lord Jonathan told his son to enter.

Lord Jonathan was at his desk, seemingly writing a letter. Dean stood in front of the desk, waiting patiently for his father to finish.

Finally, he put his quill down and looked at his son with a smile. "How are you, Dean?"

"Fine, father. Is there a reason you wished to see me?" Dean said carefully.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Lord Jonathan stood up from his desk and placed a hand on Dean's arm, leading him out of the study. "You're at the age where you need to learn how to manage the estate. I have no intention of biting the dust anytime soon, but accidents do happen, and you need to be ready."

Dean nodded but didn't say anything, a sense of dread stirring up in his stomach.

His father led him outside and into the cellar. Dean paused for a moment, knowing this was his father's favorite place to deal out organized punishments for his slaves. "Father?"

Lord Jonathan looked back at his son and smiled. "You're going to need to know what happens when you give your slaves an inch." Dean swallowed hard as he followed his father. Lord Jonathan held up a lantern and said, "Given the chance, a slave will walk all over you."

Dean's eyes widened at the sight, but he managed to keep his gasp from coming out.

A slave was hanging from his wrists from the ceiling, naked from the waist up. Dean recognized him, but didn't know his name. "What did he do?" Dean said quietly.

"He forgot that I wanted him to wake me up an hour earlier than usual." Lord Jonathan hung the lantern on a hook and looked at the wall where his many instruments of torture hung. "Now he needs to realize that such a mistake will not be tolerated."

The slave looked up and looked Dean in the eyes before quickly lowering his gaze to the ground. "B-but it wasn't that big of a deal," Dean tried to say. "You're not behind or anything so no harm done."

Lord Jonathan shook his head. "No, your slaves must understand that _no_ mistake will be tolerated." He took the cat-o-nines off the wall and flicked it through the air a few times. "If you let them get away with one mistake, they're more likely to make more in the future." With this, he brought his arm back and swung the cat-o-nines hard against the slaves back.

The slave yelped and shook, his eyes screwed shut from the pain. Another loud smack echoed in the small room as Lord Jonathan struck again. Bile started to rise in Dean's throat.

Lord Jonathan delivered several more strokes before he finally stopped. He laughed breathlessly as he rubbed his arm. "It's actually a good way to build up your muscle as well."

Dean automatically nodded, thankful for the poor lighting of the cellar. Otherwise his father would have noticed the too pale pallor of Dean's face.

The slave was hanging limply now, blood starting to drip on the floor. He was panting heavily, his eyes still shut.

Lord Jonathan tossed Dean the cat-o-nines, his son catching it automatically. "Your turn, son."

Dean stiffened. He looked from the blood soaked whip to the hanging slave, who was now looking at Dean with an unfocused stare. "H-hasn't he h-had enough now...?" Dean said quietly.

"Nonsense," Lord Jonathan said. "The stronger the punishment, the more impact the message has. Go on. Give it a try."

His body seemed to move on its own accord as Dean walked around to face the slave's back. It was covered in thin, crisscrossing lashes, all bleeding freely. Dean quickly swallowed down the small amount of vomit and bile that came up his throat. "A-are you sure this is necessary?" Dean barely whispered.

Lord Jonathan frowned. "Dean, if you don't learn to buckle down on your slaves, they'll walk all over you." He stood behind his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I think you problem is you're thinking of them as human. Don't feel ashamed about it; A lot of landowners feel that way. They're also the landowners with the most problems. They're not human, Dean. They're just animals, like the cattle that we use plow, and the chickens we collect from. If a dog bit your hand, you have to give it a swift punishment, yes? To make sure it doesn't do it again. Basically, conditioning." Lord Jonathan nodded towards the slave. "This is an animal, Dean. Make sure it doesn't bite your hand again."

Dean was thankful a thousand times over that he was facing away from his father. Tears were stinging his eyes and he was sweating heavily. Knowing there was no way out of this, Dean shakily lifted his arm, paused, then brought it down, a resounding smack echoing in the room, making Dean flinch.

Lord Jonathan shook his head. "Dean, you didn't even break the skin. You need to put _strength _behind it. Try again."

Dean lifted an arm up again, a tear falling down his face. _God, forgive me._

---

Clara rubbed Dean's back as he knelt on the floor gagging. He had already thrown up everything in his stomach and now all that was left was dry heaves that took his breath away.

"Just breath through it, Master Dean, it'll be alright," she mumbled repeatedly as she wiped off his mouth and face with a cool rag.

Dean shook his head. "No, its not." He took a deep breath and forced himself to sit up.

Turns out his father had canceled his tutoring session for the day in favor of teaching Dean 'new skills' required for his future. So now all Dean had to distract him from his horror-filled morning was Clara's careful ministrations.

"You're already so much better than your father," Clara assured. She cradled Dean's head in her hands. "You didn't have have a choice, child."

Dean closed his eyes and soaked the comfort Clara was offering. "Clara?" Dean said softly.

"Yes, Master Dean?"

Dean flinched at the word 'master.' "Please don't call me that."

Clara looked at Dean sadly. "Master Dean, you know I can't do that."

Dean nodded, his eyes still closed. He knew Clara would say that, and he understood why. Didn't mean he had to like it. He reached up and grasped Clara's wrists. "I don't wanna be your master," Dean said wetly. "Or anyone else's. I don't wanna deal out punishment or make other people's decisions for them. I don't want father to die, not just because he's my father, but because when he dies that's gonna be my life. And I don't that life. I just wanna be me."

Clara didn't say anything. Instead she grasped Dean's hands with her own and gently patted them. "I'm gonna get you something to eat."

Dean shook his head. "Not hungry."

"I know you don't feel like it, but I promise, it'll make you feel better."

Dean took a deep breath and sighed before slowly nodding his head. "Yeah, okay." Then he shakily stood up. "But I'm getting it myself."

"Master Dean...!"

"Clara!" Dean said, a little forcefully. "I got it. My father is out overseeing the new slaves out on the plantation and won't be back for hours. In the meantime, I can get myself something to eat."

Clara sighed as Dean disappeared behind the door. She really didn't know how to handle Dean's confusion on the order of how things are done in life. She, herself, was conflicted over supporting Dean's sympathy for slaves or trying to get Dean acknowledge his place in reality. The latter would make him happy but the former would hopefully make him a better person.

But after seeing Dean so torn up after only delivering a few simple blows to a slave, she was starting to think that Dean might be better off accepting his place in the social order than trying to change the rules of society.

---

When Dean entered the kitchens, he wasn't surprised to find them empty. The slaves knew as much as he that his father would be out with the new slave until late in the evening, so there was no point in starting to make his dinner sooner than necessary.

He opened one of the cupboards and pulled out a loaf of bread. He started to cut off a couple slices when he head a clatter. Dean looked up in confusion. "Hello?"

There was a soft gasp and another clatter. Dean frowned, placing the knife down. He walked towards the source of the noise. "Is someone in here?"

The sound of furious scrubbing filled Dean's ears as he got closer to the source. As he got closer, his steps got faster. "Hey, why aren't you answering -- ?"

Suddenly Dean slipped and fell backwards onto the stone floor into a large puddle of water. For a moment, he was dazed, everything around him looked like a white blur.

"Oh... that was _graceful_..." Dean sat up and moaned. His shoulders and back obviously took the brunt of the landing and now were extremely sore. "Now, I feel just stupid..."

There was a small gasp and another clatter, this time from right next to him. Dean looked to his right and blinked.

Sam was sitting there, tears running down his face as he tried to pick up a bucket, that had once been full of soapy water, and sit it back up.

Dean looked at the floor at a large dark stain that Sam had apparently been trying to clean up when he knocked the water over. But now Sam was almost hysterical trying to get the bucket to stand up.

His pain forgotten, Dean gently grabbed the bucket from Sam's trembling hands and set it aside. "It's okay, Sam."

But Sam just trembled and shook his head, reaching for the bucket. But Dean grabbed Sam by the arms and kept him there. "Hey, it's okay. Just leave it alone for now."

Sam trembled and shrunk in Dean's grasp, obviously expecting some form of punishment. He hung his head limply and sniffed as he continued to cry. Suddenly, Dean had another urge to just take the boy and run away. "I'm not gonna hurt you, kid."

Sam looked up at Dean with a confused expression. His head cocked to the side, as if he was examining Dean.

"You can understand me, right?"

Sam slowly nodded, his eyes still wandering over Dean's body.

Dean let got of Sam's arms. But as soon as he did, Sam stood up and started to wipe the suds off of Dean's clothes. "Hey, stop." Dean quickly stood and faced Sam.

Sam's eyes widened as Dean towered over him. He quickly looked around and grabbed a towel, pressing it against Dean's clothes to try and dry them.

"Sam..." Dean took the towel away from the terrified kid and sighed. "Sam, it's okay. I tripped over my own feet and fell. It wasn't your fault."

Sam shook his head, grabbing the bucket and pointing at the large puddle on the floor.

Dean calmly took the bucket from Sam and walked over to the faucet to fill it up with water again. "It was an accident, Sam."

Sam looked at Dean, completely and utterly confused. Dean smiled as he placed the filled bucket back on the floor. "Is this where my father assigned you?"

Sam shook his head, making Dean frown. "Then what're you doing here?"

Sam opened his mouth, but quickly shut it. He pointed towards the door then down at the stain on the floor.

Dean sighed. "Okay, did my fahter assign you to one of his slaves?"

Sam shook his head no as he shuffled from foot to foot, looking extremely nervous.

Dean was extremely confused but didn't pursue it. He looked down at his hands, suddenly remembering what had happened earlier that day and what he was doing in the kitchen in the first place. "Uhh... well, I gotta go so..." Dean turned and left Sam shaking and confused.

---

"Clara?"

"Yes, Master Dean?"

"Wolfgang helps my father figure out which slave should be posted where, right?"

Clara nodded. "That's right."

"So could you... i don't know, ask him and see where that kid, Sam, has been assigned?"

Clara sighed. "Master Dean, I'm sure he could, but is that really necessary."

Dean frowned. "I told you what my father has planned for him. If I know where he's been assigned..."

"You won't be able to do anything," Clara said quietly. "I know you don't want it to be that way, but that's just the way it is. None of us can do anything about it."

Dean shook his head, confused and frustrated. He fell back on his bed and sighed. "I just feel so _useless_. I need to _do_ something. You know, besides beating slaves," Dean said guiltily.

Not knowing what else to say, Clara opened Dean's closet and said, "Let's get you ready for dinner. You're father is going to be back soon."

Dean stared at the ceiling, his mind working overtime to try and sort out his feelings and obligations. Finally he sighed. "Yeah, okay."

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**okay, so i broke my promise of the second chapter being much more interesting than the first. But I'm almost certain things will pick up next chap :)  
**

**Sooo...? Review and let me know what you think :)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Yes, I can also recite all the American president's birth dates.**

**Dean is 14, Sam is 10**

**OKAY! This is the most OUTLANDISH fic I've written. **

**This chapter is much MUCH shorter than my previous two, but since i'm SOOO busy right now, it's the best I can do :P  
**

**Enjoy chapter three!  
**

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Dean sat at the dinner table patiently, waiting for his father and Wolfgang to come back in from the plantation. Clara sat at the other end of the table, lost in her own thoughts.

Normally at dinner, Dean and his father would sit at one end of the table (the end closer to the kitchen) while Clara and Wolfgang would sit at the other end. They got to eat pretty much the same food as their masters, except with poorer quality plates and utensils. Still, it was worlds better than how all the other slaves eat.

They eat in a cramped, dirty room. They only had rough wooden plates to eat off of, using only their fingers as utensils. Lord Jonathan said that they can only be fed the scraps from their leftovers. He didn't know, but the chef always made a large surplus of food to make sure there was enough to keep the slaves functioning.

Apparently Clara and Wolfgang were the only ones Lord Jonathan needed healthy.

"What's taking him so long?" Dean said.

"Probably taking care of some last minute affairs," Clara said quietly.

Dean sighed. He squirmed in his chair, pulling on his clothes. "Can't wait to change into something less _complicated."_

The doors opened and Lord Jonathan marched in, followed by Wolfgang and...

_Sam!_

Dean's eyes widened at the boy. He was trailing behind Wolfgang, his head hanging and his hands clasped tightly together.

"What's he doing here?" Dean asked automatically.

Lord Jonathan smiled as he put a hand on Sam's shoulder and pulled him forward. Sam gasped in surprised as he was jerked forward, but quickly righted himself. "If I'm gonna train this kid, he's gonna need to be with me most of the time. He might even be able to replace Wolfgang eventually. Wolfgang is no spring chicken, you know." Dean mentally cringed at the way Wolfgang was being referred to as if he wasn't there.

Dean and his father sat down, Sam taking a seat next to his new master. "Wolfgang? There should be some scraps in the kitchen, correct?"

Wolfgang bowed his head. "Yes, master."

"Go get a plate for Sam here."

Wolfgang bowed and backed out of the room.

Lord Johnathan looked at Sam with a frown. "Sit up straight!"

Sam jerked, his back immediately straightening. His eyes met Dean's, and Dean could see they're slightly glazed quality.

Clearly angry, Lord Johnathan grabbed Sam roughly by the hair and slammed his head against the table. "Do _not_ look at my son!"

"Dad!" Dean yelled horrified.

Lord Johnathan ignored his son as he pulled Sam back up by the hair and slammed his head on the table again. "You will keep your head _down_ and sit up _straight_, do I make myself clear?" Sam was trembling hard and gasping desperately. Dean could imagine each one of those gasps as a whimper that Sam was unable to utter. "_Do I make myself clear!?_" Lord Johnathan yelled as he pressed Sam's head against the table hard.

"Dad, he's mute!"

Lord Johnathan frowned. "What?"

"He can't talk, Dad..."

His father blinked. "Oh... Right. I had forgotten."

Wolfgang entered with a plate filled with day-old scraps. Dean took one look at the plate and quickly suppressed his gag reflex.

"Ah, Wolfgang." Lord Johnathan let go of Sam's hair. Sam kept his head on the table, his tiny body still trembling. "Place the food down for young Sam please."

Wolfgang did as instructed, his eyes meeting Dean's. Dean could tell Wolfgang was fearful for Sam, but there was something else as well. _Guilt_. Dean frowned as Wolfgang walked to the other end of the table to sit with Clara. _Wolfgang...?_

"Now," Lord Johnathan said. "Let's eat."

The dinner was uneventful. Lord Johnathan spoke with his son and Dean responded with the appropriate responses. Dean noticed that through out the entire dinner, his father kept a careful eye on Sam, mostly likely making sure the boy didn't step out of line.

After they were through eating, Lord Johnathan stood. "Wolfgang, will you please take Sam up to his new quarters."

Wolfgang bowed. "Yes, master."

Dean looked at his father in confusion. "What new quarters?"

"I'm giving Sam Maria's old room. That way I can keep an eye on him at all times."

Dean paled at this. That meant Dean would have no way to look out for the kid. "But why? If kids are such a menace, won't it just drive you more nuts."

Lord Johnathan shrugged. "More reason to deal with him now rather than later."

Dean watched helplessly as Wolfgang led Sam away. Away from any sort of protection and straight into the jaws of his father.

When Lord Johnathan left the room, leaving Dean and Clara, Dean fell into his seat, his mind blank. Clara stepped up behind her master and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Master Dean?"

Dean looked up at Clara, tears in his eyes. "What am I supposed to do?"

Clara shook her head. "Nothing. Just accept -- "

"No!" Dean stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back. "How can you say that!? How can _you _of all people say that?!"

Clara bit her lip, unsure of what to say. "I want you to be happy. And if you keep worrying about problems you can't solve, you will be miserable for the rest of your life."

Dean shook his head, not believing he was hearing this. "I can't just _ignore_ this!" Dean pointed to the door that his father left out of. "My father is going to _torture_ that boy! Why? Because he was born into the wrong family. What if he was born into my life, and I was born into his? What would your response be then?"

Clara wholeheartedly agreed with her master, but for his sake, played the devil's advocate. "It doesn't matter. That's not the case. As awful as Sam has it, I can only take care of _you_. And that does not include you killing yourself for lost causes."

Dean felt his chest constrict. Just hearing Clara utter those words made him want to vomit. "What happened, Clara?" Dean whispered. He knew this wasn't _his _Clara. She would never say these things to him. She's spent her whole life, in fact, staying completely neutral on the issue.

Clara's eyes were downcast as she thought through her answer. "I found my place, Master Dean."

The pressure behind Dean's eyes was becoming too much. He quickly ran out of the room, completely ignoring Clara's calls.

Her place? _Her place?_! Her place was by his side, taking care of him, listening to him, _helping_ him! Not serving him! Not objectifying herself! _I can't do this!_ Dean thought desperately. _I can't live like this! I can't be silent and do what's right! It's too much!_

Dean burst into his room, quickly ripping off all his clothes, not caring that he was ruining them in the process. When he had nothing but his undergarments on, he flung himself on the bed, sobbing hard.

---

It was the dead of night. The sound of crickets and bats flying by were the only sounds that disturbed the stony silence.

Dean lay on his bed, wide awake. He stared at the half crescent moon through his window, his thoughts wandering.

After a while, he sighed, turning on his side away from the window. He was so lost. He couldn't even get himself to relax enough to fall asleep, his mind was so full of contradictions and problems.

His thoughts never strayed far from Sam. The haunted look in his eyes, the desperate gesticulating he did when he was upset... all the other slaves got him upset, but Sam just made Dean want to stab his father in the heart, which absolutely frightened him. Was it because Sam was a child? Or because he was a mute? Dean didn't know, but this child simply threw him over the edge.

Ever since Sam entered the household it seems everything has changed. Wolfgang had a look in his eye that nagged at Dean, making him wonder about Wolfgang's part in Sam's 'conditioning.' Clara has gone from neutral to trying to convince Dean to simply accept things as is. And that just made Dean angry. After his entire life, all the years of this line of thinking and pondering, _now_ she wanted to teach Dean that he should just simply have apathy? No. It was much too late for that, now.

Dean sighed. Unable to fall asleep, he threw his covers back and grabbed his oil lamp. Walking into the hallway, he carefully lit it on one of the candles that lined the whole house. Then he took off into the dark house, with only one destination in mind. Maria's old room.

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**Hope it wasn't too boring :P  
**

**Sooo...? Review and let me know what you think :)  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Yes, I can also recite all the American president's birth dates.**

**Dean is 14, Sam is 10**

**OKAY! This is the most OUTLANDISH fic I've written. **

**Sorry for the delay! Life's hectic at the moment :P**

**This chap kinda had an awkward ending, but I hope you still like it :)**

**WARNING: SQUEEMISH MATERIAL. It's not in italics or anything, but it's kinda obvious what's about to happen, i think...  
**

**Enjoy chapter four!  
**

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As Dean approached Maria's, now Sam's, room, a feeling of apprehension filled his stomach. What if his father wasn't asleep yet? If he caught Dean trying to get into Sam's room, Sam would be the one to pay the price. SO why was Dean even risking that outcome? If Sam got hurt because of Dean...

Dean shook his head. He had to make sure the kid was okay. He had to be scared out of his mind. Dean couldn't even imagine how alone and worthless Sam must feel. How scared his situation must make him.

It must be because Sam was a child. That was the only explanation for Dean's willingness to go to such lengths to make sure a slave was okay. Sure, he tried to lessen the burden of other slaves, but he never had such a... an _obsession_, over a single slave before. But Sam was a child. Unable to understand the world, unable to deal with the horrors he's witnessed. The thought of that small boy going through those horrible things he's been made to bare has seemed to brought out a protective side in Dean. And somehow, Dean wasn't all that ashamed or surprised by it.

When he arrived at the door to Sam's new room, Dean waited a moment mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do. Then, Dean frowned. What _was_ he about to do?He mentally shook himself. He knew what he was doing. He was gonna reassure the kid, make sure he knew that Dean was going to be there for him.

"Master Dean?"

Dean gave a loud gasp, his heart beating a thousand miles and hour. "W-Wolfgang?" Dean whispered.

Wolfgang stood behind Dean, giving him a curiuos look. "What are you doing at this hour, Master?"

Dean sighed. "I just wanted to check up on the kid."

Wolfgang had that _look_ again, this time making Dean frown. "Wolfgang, what is it?"

Wolfgang shook his head. "It's nothing, Master Dean. But you shouldn't be up at this hour." Wolfgang placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get you back to bed."

"Wolfgang, wait." Dean shrugged off his hand. "I just want to check on him. Make sure he's okay."

"I'm sure he's fine," Wolfgang insisted. "I'm sure he needs his rest. It's probably been a long day for him."

Dean frowned. Now he _knew_ something was up. "Wolfgang, there's no way he can be _fine_. He's turned into my father's new personal slave-in-training! You of all people -- !"

"It's not my place," Wolfgang said harshly. "Nor my wish to defy it. If you don't go back to bed, I shall wake up your father."

Dean stared at Wolfgang incredulously. There was no reason for Wolfgang to do that. His father would most likely beat _Wolfgang_ for waking him up and letting Dean wander freely. It made no sense for Wolfgang to threaten such a thing.

"Fine," Dean said quietly. He slowly started to walk back to his room, still a little shocked at Wolfgang's behavior. "Wolfgang?" Dean asked quietly.

Wolfgang sighed. "Yes, Master Dean."

Dean turned to face the aging man. "Where has Sam been assigned?"

"When he's not with your father, he'll be in either the kitchen or out on the plantation." Wolfgang gave Dean a wary look. "Why do you ask?"

Dean shrugged and proceeded to walk back to his room. "No reason."

---

Dean barely got any sleep. Waking up long before Clara came to get him, Dean tried to put on his clothes himself. He was only patially successful, but enough so he looked semi-decent. The look on Clara's face was well worth the effort.

Clara sighed, stepping up beside her master to finish buttoning up his clothes. "When you will just let me do this?"

Dean shrugged, wanting to talk about more important things. "Why do you want me to accept my social standing all of a sudden?"

Clara momentarily paused, before continuing to dress the young teen. "I believe it's important for you to do so if you want to succeed..."

"No," Dean said, shrugging Clara off to look at her. "If you truly believed that, you would have tried to convince me of all this a long time ago. Instead you let me go on about wanting to help slaves and how they're no different than me or my dad. Why the sudden change?"

Clara looked at Dean with a sad expression, raising a hand to his face. "Master Dean... I am proud of the young man you are. Who you will become. But... you're too passionate about trying to help slaves. Eventually your father will figure out what your stand is and I _know _your father will make sure you don't help another slave ever again. Doesn't matter _how. _He just will. And I don't want that to happen."

"I'm willing to take that chance," Dean said quietly. "I'm not gonna sell my soul just to keep myself safe. I'm not gonna stand by while a little boy is _tortured_ right under my nose." Dean ran a hand over his face and sighed. "I understand what you're trying to do, Clara. And I know I'm just being stubborn. But can you just please stop?"

Clara shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Master Dean. But even if it doesn't change a thing, I have to try and convince you to do what's best for _you_. It's my job."

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's not a job if you don't be paid."

Clara gave a small smile. "I get paid plenty, Master Dean."

Dean looked at Clara with a frown. "What?"

Clara stepped up to Dean to finish putting on his clothes. "You have a double session with the tutor today, since yesterday was canceled."

Seeing Clara's avoidance of the subject, Dean nodded his head. "Right. Double boredom for the day."

When Clara finished getting Dean ready, Dean turned around and asked, "Right before I'm done with Mr. Berkley, could you check to see if Sam is in the kitchen?"

Clara gave Dean a pleading look. "Master..."

"_Please_ Clara," Dean begged. "Just check to see if he's there. A-and try not to startle him too bad. He's really jumpy."

Clara just stared at her master, contemplating his request. Finally she sighed and nodded. "Fine. I heard your father is going to be in town until late tonight anyway. Though I'll double check with Wolfgang..."

Dean smiled before giving Clara a quick hug. "Thank you, Clara."

---

Clara was standing outside the study's doors when Dean came out with a sour look on his face.

"I don't care how intelligent he is," Dean said. "If Mr. Berkley droned on any longer, I would have died."

Clara gave an amused smile. "I'm sure, Master."

Dean looked at Clara. "Did you...?"

Clara shook her head. "Master..."

"Please just tell me, Clara," Dean pleaded.

Clara nodded. "That's what I'm saying. Sam's not in the kitchen."

"So he's at the plantation..." Dean mumbled to himself. "Okay. Thanks, Clara." He hugged her again before running off to his father's plantation.

"Be back before dinner!" Clara called. Dean simply raised a hand in acknowledgment as he ran on.

---

The plantation was small compared to other plantation owners in the area. Lord Johnathan's main revenue was running a tax collector agency. The only reason Lord Johnathan bothered to keep the land was because it had been passed down several generations by now.

Dean decided to search for Sam row by row. The wheat they were growing was nearly ready to harvest, so Dean could barely look down a row completely if no one was in the way.

The estate was surrounded by thick woods, isolating the estate from others. Lord Johnathan liked the isolation, saying he didn't want to bother his neighbors when he had to teach 'lessons' to his slaves. Dean always felt like the woods were a trap. The guards lining the estate at the edge of the woods acting as reinforcement to the stifling, dark boundary.

As Dean walked up and down each row in search of Sam, some of the slaves gave Dean a curious look, but mostly ignored him and continued to work.

He was walking towards the end of the seventeenth row, most likely having ruined his close by that point, when he heard a growling sound from the woods. It was faint, and it sounded like a human, not an animal. Curiosity taking over, Dean followed the sound.

About a quarter of a mile into the woods, Dean stumbled upon a large naked man, his body bouncing up and down as he continued to have intercourse.

It wasn't unheard of, slaves having sex with each other when they could. That's one of they ways they survived, by procreating and giving each other enough pleasure to make it through the tough days.

Feeling slightly disgusted at the sight, Dean was about to turn and leave, when he realized _who_ the man was driving himself into.

_Sam_.

"Get off him!" Dean yelled as he walked up and kicked the unsuspecting man in the stomach. The man gave a harsh grunt as he was forced out of Sam and rolled onto his back. Then Dean recognized him. It was Jack, the slave who explained Sam's condition to him and Clara a couple nights ago. "What do you think you're doing?!" Dean demanded.

Jack looked up at Dean with a bewildered look. Then his expression quickly turned into one of giddiness as he laughed. "I guess it's not the best time to have fun, is it?"

"Have fun?" Dean said incredulously. "That was...? you think..." He simply couldn't find the words to describe what he was feeling. "You vile bastard!" he finally spat.

"Ah, Sam was having fun, weren't you Sam?"

Dean looked at the young boy. His face was red and swollen, tear-tracks staining his cheeks. His naked body was covered in scratches, dirt and underbrush from being pounded into the ground by a man three times its size. And while obviously shaking with fear, Sam looked down and nodded in agreement with Jack.

"See?" Jack said. He grabbed Sam's arms and reached for his genitals.

"Get away from him!" Dean spat. He shoved Jack away while grabbing Sam and pulling him away from the deranged slave. "Get back to work, you pig."

Jack looked disappointed, but quickly shrugged it off as he quickly jerked himself off (much to Dean's disgust), cleaned himself off, and got dressed, heading back to the fields.

Once Jack had disappeared, Dean turned his attention to Sam, who was still shaking hard under Dean's grip. Sam's breathing quickened as Dean knelt in front of him, minutely stepping back from the older boy.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean said as he brushed off the twigs and dirt stuck to Sam's rough skin.

Sam's shaking decreased slightly at Dean's careful ministrations. Sam made sure to lower his gaze, not wanting to incur Dean's wrath.

Dean noticed this but didn't say anything. He grabbed Sam's discarded clothes and handed them to Sam. "Here, get dressed."

Sam nodded as he tenatively took the clothes from Dean and started to put them on. As he did so, Dean thought about what he had just seen. Having visited the slave's quarters at night many times, Dean was used to seeing or hearing people have sex. It seemed to make the slaves happier and there didn't seem anything wrong with what they did. But watching Jack have sex with a kid, one who was small even for his age, there was just something _wrong_ about it. It made Dean feel whithered and sick on the inside. There was no way Sam was having 'fun.'

Sam was mute. So technically, he couldn't cry out or call for help if someone was hurting him. It made Dean wonder how many times people took advange of the kid, taking their own pleasure while leaving Sam with absolutely nothing. Dean shook his head. It was just so wrong. There was always something great about sex before. Something wonderful about it. But this... Dean even started to wonder if what he just saw was even sex.

When Sam was done, he started to head back to the fields when Dean stopped him. "Hey, where are you going?"

Sam gave Dean a confused look. As he wiped the dried tears off his face, he pointed towards the field, looking back up to Dean.

Dean shook his head. "No. I want you to stay here with me." Dean sat on the ground and looked up at Sam with a smile. "Well?" he asked as he indicated the spot in front of him.

Sam's face was one of the most amusing things Dean's ever seen. It was also one of the most heartbreaking. Sam was gripping the bottom of his dirty shirt, shifting from foot to foot. His expression was one of shock, his gaze shifting between the fields and Dean.

Dean leaned over and patted the ground in front of him. "Don't worry. You won't get in trouble, I'll make sure of it."

Sam swallowed hard before slowly sitting where Dean indicated, still fidgeting with his shirt.

Dean smiled. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Sam gave a tenative smile, his gaze still lower than Dean's. He jumped violently when Dean placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, easy, Sam. I'm not gonna hurt you, okay?"

Sam gave another nod, staring firmly at the ground.

Dean sighed. _Okay, what now?_ "Sam, you know what you were doing with Jack just now?"

Sam gave another nod, his body trembling under Dean's hand.

"Does that sort of thing happen often?" Dean didn't know why he was asking this. He mostly just wanted to talk to Sam and what happened between Sam and Jack stood out most in his mind.

Sam nodded without hesitation, squeezing his legs together unconsciously.

Dean's stomach clenched uncomfortably. "Okay, let's talk about something else..." he said quickly. "Um... what do you want to talk about?"

Sam pointed to his mouth, than insitantly at his ear.

"You just want to listen?"

Sam nodded.

"Um, okay..." Dean sighed. "Well, I'm Dean, but I guess you already know that... Uh, I take lessons from the most _boring_ tutor ever almost every day..."

And it went on like that. Dean just talked and talked, while Sam carefully listened. By the time the sun was setting and slaves were going in, Sam was staring intently at Dean's face with a slight smile as Dean continued to talk.

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**I might have some Sam POV next chap... maybe...  
**

**Sooo...? Review and let me know what you think :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Yes, I can also recite all the American president's birth dates.**

**Dean is 14, Sam is 10**

**OKAY! This is the most OUTLANDISH fic I've written. **

**Sorry for the delay! Life's hectic at the moment :P**

**Chaps kinda longer than usual.... and I LOVED writing it, so i hope you enjoy :)  
**

**WARNING: There's a pretty... disturbing scene in this chapter. It involves the death of a child. NOT SAM OR DEAN. but it's disturbing all the same. That's with all the other usual warnings as well. Sorry if you're squeamish :/  
**

**Enjoy chapter five!  
**

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Not much changed over the next week. Dean continued to visit Sam in the kitchens/plantation, when his father didn't want to see him. The few times his father did want to see him, the completely drained Dean emotionally, and the emotional stress wearing him out physically. But speaking to Sam always seemed to help, being able to spill his emotions and out freely and have someone just _listen_. And the more Dean talked to Sam, the more Dean started to recognize the different facial expressions and gesticulations that Sam used to express himself. Of course, Sam rarely expressed himself freely, needing almost an order from Dean to actually get Sam to try and convey anything. But Dean had plans to work on that.

But watching his father's brutal treatment of Sam was becoming increasingly harder. No matter what, Lord Johnathan always found something faulty in Sam's mannerisms. As the days passed, Dean noticed the increased number of injuries that covered Sam's body. Whenever Dean asked, Sam would just shrug and try to move the conversation away from himself. But Dean was getting increasingly worried and this horrible feeling in his gut was growing, day by day. Not the usual nausea and bile that came up when his father forced him to punish slaves or when he watched his father deliver the cruel punishments. This was something else. It wasn't so much a physical feeling. It was all the more worse than the feeling of nausea. But whatever it was, it seemed appropriate given that he was watching his friend being slowly tortured.

Oh yes, that was also new for Dean. Sam wasn't just a slave he got along with or someone he enjoyed being around. He actually thought of Sam as his _friend._ Maybe it was because Sam was closer to his age or because _he_ got to do all the talking while someone listened. Whatever it was, Sam was more than just a disadvantaged slave to look after. He was a friend to take care of. And that just made his father's treatment of Sam all the more unbearable.

Clara, with intuition that matched her experience, figured all of this out and was trying even harder to keep Dean away from Sam. Not because she didn't care about Sam, or because she thought Dean was being _improper_ or any nonsense like that. But, because she could see the bond the boys were forming, she believed that it would make it that much harder in the end when the line between master and slave became painfully apparent. Or when Lord Johnathan forced that line upon them. She wanted to spare both the boys that future pain, fearing it might through one or both of them over the edge.

She could see them coming together like perfect pieces of a puzzle. Perfect for each other, but vastly different. This would make their separation more difficult, but it had to be done for both their sakes. Before they started to fully depend on each other. Sam needed to accept his role as a slave and learn to deal with the harsh realities of his social standing. Dean needed to step into his role as master and stop caring for his slaves in such a manner, for reasons Clara had already thought of before.

But no matter how hard she tried, Dean always managed to find his way to Sam. She was just hoping she could put an end to it before it was too late.

---

"One of the key things..." Lord Johnathan said, "is to be able to punish them severely enough without impeding their ability to work."

Dean nodded numbly as his father walked back and forth in front of the slave who was currently chained to the wall. According to his father, this slave hadn't met his quota as far as what he should have gotten done for the yesterday.

"There are certain punishments I can't use on this slave. Why is that, Dean?"

Dean swallowed. "Because then they wouldn't be able to work."

John smiled. "Exactly. So how should I punish this slave? Technically almost any physical punishment I deal out, even if not harsh, will effect his workload. So what do I do?"

Dean gripped his arm tightly, trying to keep himself from shaking too hard. Tears were brimming his eyes, but he blinked them back so his father wouldn't see. "I-I don't know," Dean said quietly.

John shrugged. "The answer's pretty simple." He nodded to one of his guards, who disappeared behind the door for a moment. Then the guard came back, dragging a woman holding a small bundle to her chest.

"You punish him mentally," John said with a sly smile.

Dean felt his stomach roll as John walked up to the woman and yanked the bundle from her. When the small bundle started to cry, that's when Dean realized it was a baby.

Because Lord Johnathan hated children slaves, most of the slaves were very careful not to get anyone pregnant. How this woman was able to bring a baby to turn without anyone noticing, Dean had not idea.

Lord Johnathan turned to the chained slave. "You know you're not supposed to procreate."

"No! Please!" the slave begged. "Y-you can double my workload! Please! Just don't hurt him!"

The woman, the mother of the baby, just stared wide eyed at her child with tears falling down her face. She had yet to utter a sound.

Lord Johnathan stood just out of the chained slave's reach. "To me..." Lord Johnathan said. "This is letting you off easy." Lord Johnathan gave the baby to a guard, who smiled cruelly as he gripped the baby's screaming head, and permanently silenced it with a crack.

"NOO!" the slave screamed, tugging on his chains. "You! You! YOU!" The slave sobbed unintelligibly.

Lord Johnathan waved his hand dismissively. "Take the slave back to the plantation and keep an eye on him." As he walked past the woman on his way out, he kicked the sobbing woman in the side, then brought his foot back and kicked her full force in the face, knocking her out. "Chain the whore up. I'll deal with her later."

"NO!" the slave screamed again as he was dragged off. "Please! Just leave her alone! Marcia! MARCIA!"

Lord Johnathan sighed. "Ahh, what a mess...." He looked at his son. "I have to take care of some business. I'll see you at dinner, Dean."

Dean nodded numbly as his father left. Dean was left standing alone with two guards and the unconscious woman, Marcia, who hung now from chains. He only stood there for a moment before bolting out of the room, running as fast as he could.

The cracking of the little baby's neck echoed in his head. Marcia's horrified look, the slave's tortured scream... it was too much. _It was too much_.

Finally, Dean fell onto his knees and vomited. He heaved and coughed, his entire body straining with the gags and heaves. When the gags finally ceased and his stomach was completely empty, harsh sobs assaulted his body. He cried like the baby might have been right now. He wrapped his arms around his body and rocked back and forth, the loss of a life so young cutting deeply into Dean like a dull knife through thick hide.

_Please god..._ Dean silently begged as he rocked back and forth, eyes screwed shut. _Make it stop... please make it stop..._

---

Sam was trying to cut the wheat down, but with almost no muscle mass, lifting and handling the scythe was extremely difficult. The fact that all his fingers were broken on his right hand didn't help.

"Hey."

Sam turned to see a woman approaching him. Sam put the scythe down, knowing exactly what was going to happen next.

And as expected, the woman grabbed Sam's arm and dragged him away from the other workers. When they were in a secluded area, the woman's eyes shined with lust. She threw the frail boy on the ground and quickly undressed him, ignoring the tears of pain that were falling down Sam's face.

Unable to utter a single sound, Sam's screams and whimpers of pain were nothing but exhaled air. The woman pinned his hands under hers, ignoring the fact that the broken bones were grinding against each other. She mounted herself on top of him, placing her now naked groin on his. Sam cried harder as the pressure of her weight pressed his freshly flayed back against the ground. Getting annoyed by the boy's weak struggles and tears, and she slapped him soundly across the face several times. Then she proceeded to hump Sam, getting her pleasure out of the helpless boy.

In this place of torture and despair, when you were a slave on the Winchester property, you had to do every you could to survive. That's why Sam was always prone to abuse of every kind. He was an easy target. Couldn't complain, couldn't report them. All he could do was take it. It was a dog eat dog world, and Sam was the weakest and most convenient of them all.

When she was finally done, she cleaned herself with Sam's clothes and returned to her work, not giving Sam a backwards glance.

Sam curled into a small shivering ball. He didn't bother getting dressed. All the slaves knew when Dean came out and they used that time to their fullest. It would only be a few minutes before someone else came and used him.

Sam accepted this reality long ago. Everyone had a role to play in this system and this was his. He was everyone's release. He was the one to save everyone from insanity. He, himself, was worthless. Even among the other slaves, he was just there for whatever they needed him for. Whenever one of them was stressed or recently punished, Sam was there for them to punch their grievances out on. When one of them failed to find a sexual partner amongst the other slaves to relieve themselves, he was to be their whore.

Lord Johnathan had his uses for Sam as well. Though, because Sam was so worthless, Lord Johnathan usually had to punish him. Lord Johnathan was more... creative in his punishments than his last master had been. While physical pain was a large part of them usually, Lord Johnathan loved to do _other_ things. Sam had come to develop a deep fear of small dark rooms.

Then... there was Dean. Dean, who did nothing but talk. He never hurt Sam, used him, or ignored him. He treated Sam like a _person_. Sam didn't know why and didn't understand it. But he _liked _it. A strange feeling would fill up Sam's chest and the world would just seem so clear and bright. He didn't even realize the world was so _dark_ before he met Dean. The feelings from before stayed, but even so, Dean made it better. Made it... Sam didn't even know how to describe it. It was like nothing changed, but then everything was better at the same time. Dean did this. Dean made the world like this and Sam wanted to be around him forever. Sam wanted the world to stay like this forever. But Dean would inevitably have to leave. And the world would grow dull and dark. The abuse would start again and Sam found himself _wanting _Dean. He had never _wanted _like this before. Sure, he used to pray for his mother to come back to him but this was different. Sam starved for Dean as a man in a desert starved for water. Sam wanted to latch on to Dean and never let go.

But that would never happen. As much as Dean made the world brighter, Dean still only talked to Sam like that to work out his own grievances. Sam was still worthless and still only there for the convenience of others. Someday, Dean wouldn't need to work out his problems with Sam anymore. Then he would never have to come back and the world would forever be dull and dark.

There were footsteps. And sure enough, a moment later, a young man was flipping Sam over, holding his ass in the air.

Sam screwed his eyes shut, his mouth open in a silent sob as the man forced his penis into him with a single hard thrust. It was time for Sam to be the convenience once again.

---

Dean stumbled through the tall stalks of wheat. He was hot, still shaking, and exhausted. But he wanted to see Sam. He _needed_ to see Sam.

He found Sam easily, curled up at the base of a tree nearby where the other slaves were working. As usual, Sam was sweating and bright red. A thick, bitter, _primal_ smell covered him. Dean knew it was the other slaves doing what Jack had done before, but he wasn't able to do anything about it. As much as it pained him to see his friend like this, he couldn't do anything without getting them _both_ in trouble with his father.

Dean stared at Sam from a distance for a moment. The sound of the baby's neck breaking echoed in his head again, making him cringe. For some reason, he was imagining Sam's neck under that guard's hand. Sam, that Lord Johnathan was ordering to kill. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought, but he pushed them back. Instead, he walked up to Sam and swept him up into his arms and held him tight.

Sam stiffened as arms encircled around him. He knew it was Dean, but he had no idea why Dean was _hugging_ him. It didn't seem like the slaves who wanted to touch in between his legs. But he had no idea whatelse this could be. Whatever it was, though, it felt _good_. Sam found himself closing his eyes and snuggling into the warm embrace.

A few tears leaked out of Dean's eyes as he squeezed Sam impossibly hard. He wanted to say something to Sam. Tell him how much he meant to Dean. Tell him how much of a difference he's made in Dean's life in such a short time. How grateful he was for Sam. _Anything_. But for some reason, he couldn't get anything out.

"Y-you..." Dean swallowed hard. He slowly let go of Sam, sitting back on his legs. Sam looked at him with a worried, wide-eyed expression. Dean saw the broken fingers on Sam's right hand and gently grabbed and cradled the hand in his own. The hand was hot, purple and swollen. His father must have been really angry... He swallowed back his tears again. "You have no idea how much you mean to me."

Sam frowned, not understanding what Dean was trying to say. He raised his left hand and tentatively grabbed the sleeve of Dean's shirt, looking back up at Dean's face. He licked his lips as if he were about to say something, but they both knew he couldn't. So Sam just gently tugged on Dean's sleeve.

Dean shook his head, tears brimming his eyes again. "I-I... I saw something awful today. I think my Dad just wants me... to learn." Dean shook his head. "I don' wanna learn..." Dean squeaked out. "I want out. But I _can't_. I've thought it through and... I'm stuck."

Sam didn't know what Dean was talking about, so he just tugged on Dean's sleeve again, egging him on.

Dean swallowed the extra phlegm that was building up in his throat. He looked directly at Sam. "And you..."

Sam looked down, as if suddenly remembering his place on the social order. He took his hand away from Dean's sleeve and his broken hand out of Dean's and rested his hands onto his lap.

Dean placed a finger under Sam's chin and lifted his head, making sure Sam was looking into his eyes. "I wanna help you," Dean said quietly. "I wanna hurt everyone whoever stuck their pecker in you," Dean said with more anger in his voice. He grabbed Sam's injured hand again, handling it with extreme care. "I wanna stop my dad from trying to make you his new personal slave."

Sam looked beyond bewildered, Dean's words not making any sense. Not only that, but the way he handled Sam's abused hand like a piece of delicate glass to be _cared _for was just beyond confusing. Why should Dean care about Sam like that? Why is he treating Sam like he _cares_. Sam shook his head. He looked a little panicked as he started to mouth words, trying to speak.

"Sam, Sam!" Dean said, trying to calm the boy down. "I know you feel worthless. You must feel like the most worthless person on earth. Even slaves treat you like you're lower. Like you're just an _animal_," Dean spat with tears in his eyes, remembering the day he found Sam with Jack..._ treating _him like that. "But you're not. You're not an animal. You're not worthless." Dean's voice started to break, but he didn't care. He shook his head and gave Sam the most serious look he could muster. "Not to me."

Sam's eyes started to burn and hot stuff started to fall down his face, but he didn't even notice. He was simply too overwhelmed, his mind barely even comprehending what Dean just said to him. _Not worthless? Not to him? Wh-what does he even mean by that??_ Sam brought his uninjured hand up and clutched his head in confusion, his breathing starting to quicken.

Seeing Sam break down and becoming overwhelmed, Dean leaned forward and wrapped his arms him, being careful of Sam's wounds. Sam curled up in Dean's arms, his shoulders shaking with broken sobs. Dean shook his head, more for himself than for Sam. "Not worthless..." he said, barely audible.

When Sam's sobs were quieted, or more accurately, _ceased_, Sam sat up a little, staying in Dean's arms. He placed a hand on Dean's chest and patted it lightly.

Dean frowned. "Sam? What is it?"

Sam indicated himself before touching Dean. He repeated the action several times, trying to get him to understand. He touched Dean in different places, his chest, his lips, his forehead...

Dean frowned. "Something... about me?"

Sam nodded. He more earnestly touched Dean's chest, looking at Dean with longing. He licked his lips and tried to mouth some words, but he was going too fast for Dean to catch them.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, Sam. What are you trying to say?"

Sam swallowed. He mouthed one word several times until Dean got it. "_I?"_

Sam nodded. He mouthed the next word.

"_Air?_"

Sam shook his head. He mouthed it again.

"Air... hair... _care_?"

Sam nodded eagarly. He mouthed the last word, touching Dean's chest for emphasis.

_"You?"_

Sam nodded, smiling broadly.

"_I care you._" Dean looked at Sam in surprise and... honestly, Dean was more touched than he's ever been before. "You care about me."

Sam nodded again, looking down as if he just did something wrong.

Dean hugged Sam again, reassuring him that he hasn't done _anything_ wrong. And as his thoughts started to wander, an uncomfortable pressure was born in his chest, and he had a feeling it wasn't going to lead to anything good.

* * *

**I really like this story, and I hope you do too :)  
**

**Sooo...? Review and let me know what you think :)**


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